I read once that Tolkien wrote with the pessimism of the pagan poets [1]. They uphold honor in despair, dying well, the heroic quest at the cost of losing everything you love. But I read Tolkien and see hope scribed into every chapter. No light, whimsical child’s hope: Tolkien’s hope is not ignorance of all things capable of clouding the good. It’s a “fool’s hope,” [2] where anyone can see that in all likelihood, if things go on as they are, the fool will be disappointed. In Tolkien, the fools know themselves to be fools.

Elven-King Fingolfin’s story weighs on the side of hopelessness. The Silmarillion describes him as “fey” [3] when he challenges Melkor himself, living up to the epic’s heroic virtues. What hope has an elf against a Vala? But the Vala ought to be contended, resisted, fought. Though the high king of the Noldor (elves) finally fell, his fight was not without effect. The Dark Lord Melkor limped forever after.

At first reading, it seems that Aragorn commends this sort of despairing courage when he instructs his friends, “There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.” [4] But Gandalf, the wizard who knows his life-encompassing hope is foolish, lends a bit of insight early on. Recognizing he is a fool, he embraces humility. Do you hear it in Gandalf’s words? “Despair, or folly? It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not. It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope.” [5] He acknowledges that he may not have all the facts. Indeed, thinking that he knew what the end would be was the prideful downfall of Denethor, who let his enemy select the facts he discovered, and so turn him to despair, and madness. Tolkien’s works regularly discourage the assumption that we know the future.

He also discourages despair. I know it doesn’t seem true. There are some pivotal scenes driven by characters that rashly pursue death and glory. Aragorn is accused of it when he takes the Paths of the Dead, but that perspective is refuted. Though the way had been shut for long ages, the time had come. Such is the way of hope. Things go on in a certain way until the due time, and then change springs upon the world.

Perhaps most potent is the image of grey-eyed Dernhelm. The warrior’s silent, calm assurance going in search of death chilled Merry. And it awakens our empathy. Why shouldn’t it? Who hasn’t felt that life is going from bad to worse, and decided to rush forward to the end instead of waiting to be burned with the house? I think maybe Tolkien intended to carry us along with this character, so that we could reach the same end. Dernhelm was proud, seeking glory before duty, though demonstrating loyal love to King Theoden by staying close to him. And glory was achieved. And darkness did descend on the desperate hero. Even as Dernhelm revealed herself as Eowyn, golden hair glittering in the storm-piercing sunrise like a figment of hope; she was cast down, poisoned, and taken for dead. [6]

But now we come to it: Tolkien’s hope is the kind that stands further and deeper than all those things – than despair and darkness and loss. He knew about a resurrection hope, about seeds bringing forth fruit after they have fallen into the ground and died. Maybe he knew that fruit is more glorious than merely putting an end to your enemies. His hope embraces grief. It accepts hard things. Good is not determined by the outcome, but by some transcendent standard. And this hope joyfully trusts that there is someOne good who may intervene yet.

For Eowyn woke, and repented her destructive ideals. Day came again. Darkness was not unescapable. Faramir described the moment, “I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny. … in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!” [7] So Eowyn moved and married, healed and tended gardens. [8] Her story is a fuller exposition of the transformation the Fellowship underwent in Moria. They lost their way and lost their guide. They had descended black depths and awakened demons so that they lost hope. But on the field high on the mountain slopes, “they came beyond hope under the sky and felt the wind on their faces.” [9]

I was looking for a CD to listen to last night, a sermon that, ironically, encourages Christians to turn the world upside down with the plan, “We’re going to go out there and DIE.” He speaks from Galatians of dying to self. But the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church (another reminder given me this week, from a Facebook friend). On my way to finding that CD, I found another one. This one is by Andrew Peterson who has been one of my new favorite artists the past 7 or 8 months. Mom bought it for me for my birthday in December, and through circumstances didn’t give it to me until February, when I listened to it once or twice and wasn’t that interested. The title? “Resurrection Letters, Volume II” I took that as a sign, and am listening to it at work today.

Actually, I am eager to share more, so I’ll tell you. I lost the CD, in my room, while preparing for work this morning. I looked all over for it. Where could I have set it down? Desk? No. Bed? No. Stack of jackets? No. Dresser? No. Where did it go? I sat down to pull on my boots and decided to ask God to help me find it. I got about as far as “Lord,” when I looked up and, blending in among boxes and shelves and cubbies on the second tier of my dresser right at eye level, was the CD. “Thanks.”

Next, I got to work, put in the CD, and it wouldn’t play. Well, it was playing, but I couldn’t hear it. Our speakers at work have been fading for a while, and I haven’t even tried to play a CD in some time. But some system sounds were working in the past month, at least on and off, so I figured I would try. When it wasn’t producing sound, I was really disappointed. This CD is something I need to hear, today. So I started troubleshooting. It turns out that the only problem was a loose cord connecting the speaker to the CPU.

So I’m listening to the Andrew Peterson CD at work, the Michael Card CD in my car. Pondering resurrection and hope. And crying out for the Spirit to move, mightily, in my life. Use me to turn this world upside down.

I guess God wants me to be thinking about these things. On Saturday I was at a prayer meeting for a friend headed off to Africa on a three month mission trip. Another prayer warrior present told me afterwards that one of his pastors has been in Nigeria for a few days, where the gospel was preached. The report is that 150,000 people came forward to be saved by the blood of Jesus. Numbers like that blow my mind. I’ll admit, however hopeful I am, I’m skeptical. But what if God really is moving in places like India and Africa? What if the people in closed Muslim nations really are dreaming dreams about Jesus and running across Bibles and meeting people who will quietly preach the truth to them?

The man told me something else about Nigeria. He said that in eight days, they witnessed two people raised from the dead. The first was being carried, four days, by his father, to the evangelists. By the time the child reached them, he was dead. But the team of preachers prayed anyway, and the child came back to life. Hearing that, another person attending the revival went and got his son from the morgue. He’d died of a bullet wound in his chest. They prayed for him, and he is alive now, too.

What would have happened if there had been no hope in those evangelists for the impossible? What if, believing death to be God’s final answer, everyone had behaved rationally and ignored the impossible? How often do I fail to even consider asking God for a miracle?

These reports are third or fourth or even fifth hand. But I think it’s hard to confuse whether someone was dead and is now alive. And why would you lie about things like that? Still, my American rationalism, my lack of experience with supernatural things, pushes hard against reports about miracles. Should I believe it? What does it mean for me anyway?

My story isn’t over… A few hours after that Saturday meeting (probably early on Sunday), a good friend was encouraging me that the Spirit of God is moving – an admonition to keep crying out to see Him move here, in the world around me. My friend said that there are a group of church-planting pastors in India who prayed for someone and saw them brought back from the dead as well. I hadn’t shared what I’d just heard from someone else. So.

Two sources.

Two countries.

Three resurrections I heard about,

in one day.

And the time is coming, in less than a week now, when we celebrate the resurrection of Christ. We remember that He has all authority, and has given power to us, through His Holy Spirit. We have hope that even death that lasts for decades is not forever for those who believe.

I’ll admit: I would be scared if I saw a resurrection. Scared by such display of amazing power. And then I don’t know what I would be. Would I have unshakable faith? Would I crave more? Would I ever be able to not hope again?

Personally, I’ve only prayed for a resurrection once. I wasn’t present with the dead person. I didn’t get called to go over. I didn’t pray out loud, and I didn’t command anything. It was this month, and it didn’t “work.” I found out a friend of mine – who is no more charismatic than I am – was praying for the same thing. Our hearts cried for it. Our minds could not make sense of the grief of the situation, and so we found that we are wired for hope. We’ve both been learning about hope – hard hope. Perhaps we were both being obedient in asking for something impossible. Whatever the case, we’re both left wondering what we’re supposed to learn from hopes dashed, delusions denied, death held.

If we see a resurrection, we cannot help but hope from then on? Or does it work the other way? If we ask for a resurrection and don’t get it, can we ever hope again?

At the very end of Jesus’ earthly sojourn, He promised that those who believe in and follow Him will do miracles even greater than those He had been seen to do (John 14:12). I’m having trouble imagining greater miracles. But let’s at least agree that bringing dead people back to life should be included in the list of wonders accompanying the preaching of His gospel.

Peter knew this. So did the early followers of Jesus. They believed in a God with unlimited power. They counted on it, acted on it. In Acts 9 we read about a disciple named Tabitha. She got sick and died while Peter was nearby in Lydda. A group of believers decided to send for Peter. Two men made the journey. Peter didn’t hesitate to go with them.

But what was he thinking? He’d seen people raised from the dead. He knew it was possible. He was filled with the Spirit of God and had just seen a whole city convert because Jesus Christ used him to heal a man named Aeneas. What would you be thinking if someone came to you because their friend had died?

When Peter arrived, there were some people mourning. We probably shouldn’t rebuke them; no promise had been made that Tabitha would be returned to them – unlike Jesus who had plainly told His disciples what would happen. Peter sent everyone else out of the room, knelt by Tabitha’s washed, lifeless body. And he prayed. Then he commanded. She opened her eyes and got up and was presented to her friends alive. Simple. People had seen and touched a dead woman and now spoke with her, continuing to receive her charity.

Michael Card has a new album out, all from the Gospel of Luke. The subtitle is “A World Turned Upside Down” and the corresponding book is “Gospel of Amazement.” The two songs I like the best are “What Sort of Song?” and “A Breath of a Prayer.” Another song, “Pain and Persistence of Doubt,” accuses the characters in the gospel, and those who hear the song, of clinging to doubt and rejecting hope. Quoting the angels at the tomb, Michael Card sings: “Why search for the living here among the dead; can’t you see that He’s simply not here?” I want to defend myself, defend them. Jesus was dead. Crucified. Dead seems pretty hopeless. And you’re condemning us for not hoping? Hope is one thing when we’re wishing, when something is going wrong, when someone is just sick. But shall we believe delusions and run and tell everyone and pray for things that are impossible?

Hope hurts. Resurrection is only amazing because death is real. When you hope for another outcome, especially after death already

is

the

outcome,

you’re setting yourself up for painful disappointment. Who can be blamed for accepting reality? Building a life on what happened before instead of on what might happen, on cryptic words and promises?

In Jesus’ case, it didn’t matter that no one was hoping for His resurrection. He had it taken care of, and would raise Himself from the dead because He had promised it; because His resurrection proved He had conquered sin and death. When Jesus raised Lazarus, and the few other people during His earthly ministry, He surprised believers with His choice to wait, to not grieve, to touch and command the dead. None of the outcomes were dependent on human faith. Whether the family or disciples hoped or not, Jesus was going to act.